


your touch is what i'm missing

by amiphobic



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, shared textbooks with notes and doodles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-14 20:37:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2202258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amiphobic/pseuds/amiphobic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I bet you don’t even know a single joke."</p>
<p>“Well, you’re wrong,” Jemma says. And to prove her point, “Two mathematicians walk into a bar-“</p>
<p>“Oh my God."</p>
<p>Leaving notes in shared textbook in high school AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your touch is what i'm missing

First and foremost, the thing you have to understand about Jemma Simmons is that she absolutely _does not_ cheat. She’s got a literal off the charts GPA, perfect attendance record, and a list of science extracurriculars that would do Dr. Banner proud.

Which is why the accusations against her are pretty astounding, or in her father’s words: clearly unfounded and based in an imaginary alternate universe.

(Which is why she has no idea how to break it to her father that she has in fact engaged – minimum participation really – in these bad girl shenanigans.)

///

It starts on a Monday in November with a ‘friend’ in need.

Or maybe it starts on a Tuesday in September on the first day of school when she opens her U.S. History textbook and writes (in perfectly formed letters) ‘Simmons, Jemma - Excellent’ in the line just below a hastily scribbled ‘Skye’.

However it starts, all she knows is that she’s not particularly keen on it ending just yet.

///

“We’ll begin with the Revolutionary War on page fourteen,” Ms. Hand directs.

Jemma flips her book open, additional pencil markings on the name slip inside the cover catching her eye.

By ‘Simmons, Jemma – Excellent’ is written: _Full of yourself much?_

Despite her misgivings about writing in books that are seemingly writing back (Ginny Weasley and the Chamber of Secrets, hello?), Jemma sets her pencil lightly against the slip. Mid-sentence, Ms. Hand passes in front of her.

“Ms. Simmons?”

Jemma’s head snaps up and she tries to school her features into one of complete and utter innocence.

“Care to join the rest of us on page fourteen?”

“Of course, Ms. Hand,” Jemma says with a nervous smile, erasing everything she’s written thus far. This is clearly an intervention from some higher power warning her against the evils of rule-breaking.

(And higher powers are – well – higher powers, but Skye has another power altogether.)

(A penchant for getting Jemma in trouble, that is.)

* * *

“The book is writing to you?” Leopold Fitz – her best and only friend – says skeptically. “I know it’s been a long summer, Jemma, but-“

“No, not the book,” she says impatiently. “The person in the other section of Ms. Hand’s history class.”

“Who is it? Is it Jimmy Slade? He did leave awful… edible… bookmarks in your Bio text last year.”

“Awful at-one-point-edible bookmarks,” she corrects. “No, the name was Skye.”

“Skye. Skye what?”

Jemma shrugs, “They just wrote Skye.”

“So you’ve got a Scottish Isle harassing you.” Leo gasps, “Maybe they’re after me.”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” she says. “If they were after you they’d just toss you in the dumpster like all the other goons at this school do.”

“That was last year,” he says, fiddling with the collar of his shirt. “No, this year is Leo Fitz’s year for sure.”

(As she pulls him out of a large recycling bin later, she attempts to cheer him up with an, “At least you’ve upgraded to non-sticky substances!”)

* * *

_It’s rude to ignore people_ is the new message that greets her on page seventeen, right above the picture of Patrick Henry which ‘Skye’ has so kindly given a chat bubble proclaiming ‘give me liberty or give me homework (synonym of death)!’ (which is offensive on _so many_ levels).

Jemma sets her lips into a tight disapproving line.

She certainly doesn’t deign to answer that.

She doesn’t even think of it.

(At all.)

* * *

_The British were coming, but Paul Revere shouted, “The Regulars are coming,” ‘cause he was, you know, British_ – is the next friendly annotation.

She’s not impressed. Any sixth grader with internet access could figure that one out.

But she’s maybe a little (it’s a miniscule amount, infinitely miniscule) amused by the attempts.

* * *

_Okay, maybe history isn’t your thing? So Simmons, what_ are _you into?_

The undignified scrawl takes great effort for her to decipher.

She almost (keyword: almost) writes back.

(So sue her, she’s not exactly got many people clamoring to have conversations with her- what with being foreign and a complete and utter nerd. Bottom line: attention is nice.)

* * *

_I know you’re reading the textbook. There’s absolutely no way you’re missing these notes, Ms. On-The-Track-To-Be-Valedictorian!_

Jemma determinedly flips the page over.

_I’ll start writing in pen._

Well, she can’t allow the permanent defacing of school property. Not by herself or other students. She pulls out a loose-leaf page from her homework folder and pens two words: “Please don’t.”

She presses the book shut, note slipped in between the pages.

* * *

_She’s alive!!!!! Miracles do happen after all. But now I know your weakness… so…_

A reluctant smile graces Jemma’s features as she traces the flat letters with two fingers.

“Ms. Simmons?”

Oh bollocks.

“Do you know the answer?”

Jemma laughs nervously, “Of course. To your question. Which you’ve just asked me.”

Ms. Hand waits patiently and coolly.

“But do any of us actually know what an answer is? For every question there could be multiple correct answers and multiple acceptable answers. My point-“

“Yes, what is your point?”

Jemma gestures inarticulately with her hands and says, “I have one, yes. That I will make.”

“Can anyone help Ms. Simmons out?” Ms. Hand asks. It’s a rarity for that question to ever be posed; it’s unsurprising there are five eager volunteers willing to one-up her (it is surprising there aren’t more).

“Answer: Third period,” Antoine Tripp says quietly behind her.

“My point is third period!” Jemma rushes out gratefully.

Ms. Hand fixes her with a deadly stare. “Thank you, the mandatory fire drill _will_ indeed commence during third period.”

A grin of relief.

“Perhaps you’ll provide an answer without Mr. Tripp’s help in the future, Ms. Simmons.”

Oh, bloody hell.

* * *

“Jemma Simmons in trouble?” Leo asks incredulously. “This is the eighth sure sign of the apocalypse.”

“Maybe my diorama of the Crossing of the Delaware River was awful and she’s breaking it to me this way?”

Leo says in a high-pitched voice, “Ms. Simmons, your 15.6 GPA led me to believe you were-“

“There’s no such thing as a 15.6 GPA, Fitz,” Jemma says dryly.

“You’ve checked, haven’t you,” he says with a playful nudge.

* * *

_Do we have to go back to the threats? Come on._

A cute doodle of Pikachu covers the “Fun Fact!” section of page 49.

Today is a work day for group projects and she’s been put into a group with people who will definitely leave all the work for her.

“So, where should we start?” Jemma asks the group brightly.

They ignore her and go about texting as discreetly as possible without being caught by Ms. Hand.

“I was thinking… the New York and New Jersey campaigns?”

Still no answer.

Well, she muses, this is probably how Skye feels.

So yes, she indulges in a reply, but it’s only because no one should feel so invisible.

“ _Excellent refers to the condition of the book, not my opinion of myself. I apologize for being so rude. Paul Revere was also a silversmith and engraver (I wasn’t sure how to respond here). I’m rather ‘into’ biology and chemistry, particularly cell biology at the moment._ ”

And she could’ve used another loose leaf page, yes, but she reasons she only has so many. Besides pencil is erasable!

(Yes, she’s tested the erasibility of her writing beforehand just in case.)

* * *

The next day she gets a response in the form of a drawing of Superwoman in a victorious pose.

(She laughs, but only ironically.)

* * *

And that’s how it continues, little notes, little doodles, little stories about historical figures that don’t make it into the text or class.

And Jemma’s very satisfied with how it is despite (or maybe because of) the rules (okay, they’re not official rules but having lengthy written conversations on school-owned textbooks seems like a violation of unspoken etiquette at least) being bent a little.

* * *

And the aforementioned Monday in November is when Skye changes the game (or it’s the game-changer, she’s not sure, but it seems like Skye’s the subject and their dynamic is the object).

_So we’ve got a big test on Friday, right? Wanna help me out a little? I’ll be in the library after school. If you’re down._

Jemma panics.

And with such panicking all she can think of is to steal the textbook and shove it into Leo’s lap in third period Latin.

“What, what is this?”

“Page 107.”

Leo raises an eyebrow but complies. “Oh, this is _the_ textbook then. First vandalism, now theft, Jemma?”

“I panicked,” she says.

“And what’s the big deal?”

“Skye wants to meet! I don’t even know who he or she or they or anything!”

“That wasn’t an actual sentence, fyi,” Leo says.

“Fitz,” she whines, “what do I do?”

“What’s the big deal? Skye wants your help studying or something. You’re a great tutor, I have confidence in you,” he says, slinging his arm around her shoulder comfortingly.

“But what if this Skye is just some huge creep or pulling a prank or a…” Jemma’s voice drops low as if conspiratorially, “cheerleader!”

“Oh, come off it.”

Solemn now, Jemma’s eyes flicker downwards and she asks quietly, “What if this has been the point all along?”

“What do you mean?”

She shrugs, arms wrapping around herself, “Never mind.”

Leo gives her a gentle smile and a reassuring squeeze of the shoulder and says, “Come on, Jemma. I’ll go with you to the library. Who knows, maybe Skye is some tiny waif of a gal who’s just a little hopeless at history.”

(Maybe.)

Jemma returns his smile and says, “Oh, you always know just what to say.” And she leans into him.

* * *

“Do you see them, Leo?”

“I don’t know what they’re supposed to look like.” He shakes his head, “I swear, if it’s some chav or-”

A finger taps her shoulder lightly.

She turns around to see-

“Hey, I’m Skye.”

All confidence and twinkling mischief in deep brown eyes.

“Whoa,” Leo says, eyes wide.

“Oh,” Jemma sputters. “I didn’t- well, you’re certainly not… what I had envisioned? Not that I’m disappointed and not that you _should_ be what I envisioned, just-”

“You’re spiraling, Jemma,” Leo sing-songs.

“It’s just,” Jemma laughs bashfully, “she’s so… symmetrical and her low waist-hip ratio and-“ She gestures at her face. “Well that’s going on.”

“She can also hear you,” he says.

Jemma half-grimaces, half-attempts a polite grin.

This girl – this Skye – sweeps a lock of her gorgeous brown hair away and smiles charmingly. And she’s no waif of a gal, but some sort of ethereal being of a model stepped off the pages of Cosmo magazine.

“Like I said,” Skye says, extending a hand, “I’m Skye.”

Jemma’s hands flap about a little, unsure of exactly what to do (though it’s all so familiar – it must be the nerves) before she shakes her hand. “Oh yes, my apologies. I’m Jemma. Simmons. The one from the textbook. That we share. In Ms. Hand’s history class. As I’m sure-“

“Leo Fitz,” Leo interrupts (thankfully, mercifully). “You’re a charmer, aren’t you?” Jemma elbows him in the stomach.

“Yeah… I guess,” Skye says. “Is he your… back-up?”

Jemma laughs, “What? Oh no, he’d be awful to bring to a fight.”

He has the gall to cry, “Hey!” Ever since third grade when he hurt his ankle accidentally kicking her shin, well- he’s lost the right to any tough pretense.

“He’s also leaving,” Jemma continues, pushing him by the waist. Roughly, she whispers to him through gritted teeth, “I think I’ll be okay now.”

“Right, all reluctance until it’s some beautiful girl-“ he hisses on his way out.

None of the whispered exchange is really that private or whispered.

Skye’s still smirking.

* * *

“So what seems to be the trouble? Did you need help studying or…?”

Skye tosses her backpack onto the ground and flops onto a green beanbag in the reading area. “Just wanted to meet my cohort. You know, officially.”

“Cohort?”

“Would you prefer associate?”

Jemma cocks an eyebrow and asks, “Are you just looking for words that sound like friend but don’t actually mean friend?”

“Yeah,” Skye says, “I was trying to, I don’t know, inject a little humor into the situation ‘cause studying is the worst.”

Studying is far from the worst, Jemma wants to say, but even she knows that there’s a line between nerd and OBSESSIVE HOMEWORK FREAK. A fine line in her case.

“Well, did you know cohort is also used to refer to an ancient Roman military unit comprising of six centuries which is roughly equal to one tenth-“

“Man,” Skye says with a splitting grin, “you really know how to suck the fun out of everything, huh?” It’s not said unkindly, maybe jokingly, as if they were friends. Or cohorts.

“I can be funny,” Jemma defends anyway.

“Right,” Skye says, clearly dubious.

“Under the right circumstances, I am _hilarious_.”

“I bet you don’t even know a single joke,” Skye says with a challenging grin.

“Well, you’re wrong,” Jemma says. And to prove her point, “Two mathematicians walk into a bar-“

“Oh my God,” Skye says, eyes crinkling.

Jemma continues despite the interjection, “The first one says to the second that the average person knows very little about basic mathematics. The second one disagrees and claims that the majority of people can cope with a reasonable amount of maths. The first mathematician goes off to the washroom and during his absence, the second calls over the waitress. He tells her that he wishes to prove his friend wrong and in doing so he will call her over after his friend has returned and ask her a question. He informs her that her answer should be ‘one third x cubed.’”

“This is an awfully long joke,” Skye says.

“It’s even longer with interruptions,” Jemma says pointedly. “Anyway, she asks, ‘one third ex cue?’ and he repeats, ‘one third x cubed,’ but she says, ‘one thir dex cuebd?’ He says that is correct and so she agrees and mumbles, ‘one thir dex cuebd’ to herself. Upon the first man’s return, the second proposes a bet to prove his previous point – that basic maths are within the grasp of average citizens. He says he will ask the blonde waitress an integral and the first agrees with a scorning laugh. The second man calls the waitress over and asks, ‘what is the integral of x squared?’ The waitress responds, ‘one third x cubed’ and while walking away, turns back and says over her shoulder, ‘plus a constant!’”

Skye raises her eyebrows as if still expecting the punch line.

“Okay, it’s not my fault if you don’t appreciate maths humor injected with social commentary,” Jemma says.

Skye bursts into laughter. “No, no, you’re completely right. That was… something else.”

Mouth open and ready to fire back _something_ , they’re interrupted by a loud shush accompanied by a stern look from the librarian. “This is a library,” she says unnecessarily.

“Sorry,” Skye says – looking far from it – and mimes zipping her mouth shut, tossing the imaginary key to Jemma.

But nevertheless they’re still thrown out three minutes later after a debacle with Skye (loudly) denouncing standardized testing.

“I’ve never been tossed out of anywhere in my life!” Hysteria manages to color her tone.

Skye lounges against a nearby locker and says, “Chill.”

Chill? This girl has turned her into some sort of teenage delinquent and she wants Jemma to _chill_.

“So, your place tomorrow?”

Jemma gapes.

* * *

And okay the days leading up to the big history test, they _do_ study, just not a lot. Well, not together.

They talk mostly. Because Skye finds Jemma interesting. Or pretends to at least.

(She’s sure this is about usefulness.)

* * *

“So do you only hang out with Fitz?”

Jemma looks up from her AP Calc worksheet and asks, “Are you implying that I don’t have other friends to hang out with?” It’s true but it’s a bit scathing to hear it from someone other than her father and Leo.

“No….” Skye drawls. “I mean like no boyfriend or…?”

Jemma laughs.

“Oh, you’re serious,” she says. “No, not really. I’m very much single, very much un-boyfriended.”

“Really? But you’re such a charmer,” Skye says with a horrid, horrid imitation of Leo’s accent.

(But even if it’s about usefulness- well, she doesn’t mind. In a desperate and pathetic way, she doesn’t mind.)

* * *

The test itself is actually easier done than said. It’s all reiteration and memorization and most importantly: open book.

Which is why she’s very, very, _very_ mystified when she’s called down to the office in seventh period.

Even more mystified when she’s suggested (downright _accused_ , in her opinion) of cheating.

It’d be laughable if her father and the principal weren’t staring intently and expectantly at her.

She sputters because it’s nonsense.

“I’m just saying,” the principal, Dr. Fury, says, “it’s hard to make friends when you’ve skipped a few years. The older students don’t really treat you as an equal. I’m sympathetic to that.” He unfolds his arms and continues, “And some of them might try to take advantage of your tricky situation. Maybe convince you to give them a little help?”

And yes, she’s had those exact suspicions since the beginning. But it doesn’t make any sense.

“I’m just confused,” Jemma says with a self-deprecating laugh because she rarely gets confused when it comes to academia and RULES. “How exactly have I been helping Skye cheat?”

Dr. Fury taps the textbook on his desk.

Oh bollocks.

The truth rushes out in a flurry of words and half-formed sentences.

* * *

Jemma’s still curled up in the hallway when Skye exits Dr. Fury’s office. She senses Skye’s presence, standing over her.

“You can leave now,” Jemma says, just managing to hold back her tears. “Now that I’m a criminal and expended my usefulness no college will want me anymore, so I’ll just spiral into a deep depression and live with my ten cats and baggy dresses. You got what you wanted, it’s time to leave me to rot.”

Now she risks a peek. Skye looks torn between outright amusement and genuine concern. “Yeesh, this is a little bit dramatic, Simmons. You’re not a criminal, I’m pretty sure colleges are going to fight tooth and nail for you, and I’m not sure why I’d leave. What did I get that I wanted?”

“I somehow aided your vendetta against honest test-taking,” Jemma all but wails.

Skye slides down the wall to sit next to her, a hand settling on her shoulder warmly. She laughs despite it all and says, “Oh my God. Dude, they’re just going after you because my grade in history went from a D+ to a C+. Ms. Hand just really wants to fail and kick me out of her class. Do you really think I’m so dumb, I couldn’t have aced that test by myself?”

“No,” Jemma says, wiping away her treacherous tears. “But why reveal your academic prowess now?”

“Well, if I got kicked out of her class, you wouldn’t have any reason to talk to me,” Skye says almost shyly.

“That’s not true,” Jemma says, “weren’t we friends?”

“Cohorts,” Skye confirms with a smile. “And still are, I hope.”

The office door swings open and Dr. Fury looks at them with an unreadable expression. Jemma shoots to her feet, near the point of saluting. She feels like maybe they’re being court martialed. Skye stands warily.

“Seems we’ve just had a bit of a misunderstanding,” Dr. Fury says, eyeing the two of them critically. “Although I will have to ask that the two of you refrain from scribbling all over school textbooks in the future.”

“Of course, Sir,” Jemma says, hands shaking and gesturing wildly. “It will never ever ever happen again.”

“Alright, now skedaddle,” he says, slamming the door shut just as Jemma's father leaves the office.

Jemma’s father presses a kiss to her temple and glares at Skye before leaving with excuses of returning to his lab.

“Feel better about this whole thing?” Skye asks once they're alone yet again.

Jemma nods.

Skye says, “I really didn’t mean for you to get in trouble though.”

“Well, the two of us and trouble. It seems to be a trend,” Jemma says with a small shrug.

Skye leans in, that self-satisfied smirk curving upwards.

Her heart flutters- which: annoying, but also rather concerning.

Lips slant over her own, gentle and warm and _insistent_.

Then her heart does more than just flutter, all clenching and shaking and aching. It’s awful and Jemma wants it to happen again and again and again.

Skye pulls back and – more nervously than Jemma’s ever seen her – says, “Oh, was that not okay? I wasn’t sure- I mean it seemed like-“

Jemma cuts her off with a second kiss, hand cupping her cheek, thumb brushing smooth skin idly.

Babbling is her thing after all.

* * *

And all these bad girl shenanigans she’s gotten into?

Well, they’re just a small price to pay for this experience.

(A small thrilling price.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Comatose by Skillet.
> 
> This turned out a lot longer than expected, so thanks for reading, I appreciate it!


End file.
